The Last Day

by Glenn Kleier

  Drawing open the doors, the quaking monk admitted them down a long, broad flight of stone stairs. The expansive repository that awaited them at the bottom was of relatively recent renovation, its appearance open and contemporary. It occupied the basement deep under the Cortile della Pigna, the least accessible extremity of the archives.

  Here resided the most private, jealously guarded reservoir of the Holy Roman Catholic Church. The enormous vault contained over fifty thousand meters of flat, metal file cabinets, each drawer meticulously numbered and labeled. Within these drawers, whose latches were individually protected by an unbroken wax impression of the official papal seal, lay thirteen hundred years of detailed Vatican documents. Listed year by year, they held all surviving papal records, in succession, from the sparse materials of A.D. 692, all the way through the complete dossiers of the most recent calendar year, bearing the fresh, red-wax stamp of December 31, 1999.

  The files were arranged in long, endless rows, interrupted systematically by cubicles housing computer workstations with the latest in data-processing equipment. The highly classified materials and information stored here included all existing acts and documents relevant to the government of the Church. Everything from minutes of private papal meetings to copies of papal correspondence, privileged notes and messages, and all the working papers at the service of the pope and his court.

  Withdrawing to an open anteroom just inside the entranceway, Jeza moved to a large chalkboard at the far end. When finally the surviving news teams had collected themselves in front of her, Jeza raised her hand and the gathering fell silent, save for heavy panting.

  “To arrive at this place,” she began, “you have passed through the ancient sepulchres of Christendom. Past the remnants of distant memories, some from the very days of the twelve apostles. Here he the accountings of magnificent achievements, noble quests, great learnings, profound thoughts and wondrous enlightenments. The most ascendant accomplishments of history, to the credit of all mankind.

  “Yet, here also lie buried fearful secrets. Answers to dark, disgracing mysteries shrouded in time. Recorded among these forgotten ledgers are unholy deeds committed by Christians in the name of Christ. The untold persecutions of the Inquisition. The forced conversions and the merciless desolation of innocent, aboriginal peoples. The full breadth of the misbegotten Crusades and the slaughter of the infidels. The persecutions of the eccentric and the abnormal. The executions of prophets and teachers, of blessed men and women sent by God, silenced as heretics. The cruelty of superstition, the baseness of jealousy, the treachery of self-preservation.

  “Yet, such tales of abomination are too distant to hold consequence now. These bones shall we leave undisturbed. Rather, I shall now set before you more befitting accounts of hypocrisy and greed. Of those who, at this very hour, hold themselves up to you as administrators of God's will on earth.

  “You have been told that my words are hollow and carry no truth. You have been told that my charges of avarice and worldliness are without foundation. Behold, now shall you bear witness so that the will of the Father may be fulfilled.”

  The prophetess turned to the chalkboard and began rapidly inscribing numbers and letters. At first there was confusion in the group as to what these rows of characters might mean. But directly, someone determined that this was a list of files, dates and drawers of specific data contained in this last archive. Dividing up assignments, teams branched off and begin searching for the referenced contents.

  “These drawers are sealed with the papal stamp,” one newsman called out after locating his designated cabinet. “Isn't this illegal?”

  “We're on a mission from God!” another called back. “Break ’em. Break ’em all, for chrissakes!”

  Feldman, Hunter and Cissy scurried around the vault, tearing open seals to the designated cabinets, searching out specified documents and hurriedly videotaping the contents, not sparing time to read them. So preoccupied was he in his espionage, Feldman almost missed the fact that Jeza had finished up her listings and was quietly leaving the chamber. He nudged Hunter and Cissy and the trio aborted their task to quickly follow after her, accompanied by a half dozen other alert newspeople. They left behind them a dozen more, still busily occupied with their absorbing scavenger hunt.

  The sentry monk at the top of the vault was nowhere to be seen. As they reached the exit of the archives, the two Swiss Guardsmen were anticipating Jeza and spied her with some relief. They swung wide the heavy doors in advance and let the Messiah and her following march through.

  83

  The Papal Apartments, Vatican City, Rome, Italy 2:25 P.M., Sunday, March 19, 2000

  At first there was no response to his loud, anxious knock on the door. Then Cardinal di Concerci heard a muffled voice summon him into the papal quarters. Entering, the prefect found Nicholas VI sitting alone in his favorite armchair, staring out a window overlooking St. Peter's Courtyard.

  The crowds outside the square had grown ever more boisterous in the short time since Jeza had delivered her scathing defrocking in the basilica. The police barricades strained against the massing hope for yet another glimpse of the Messiah. Although there'd been no public word for some time regarding the whereabouts of Jeza, since her helicopter had yet to leave its pad her supporters could assume she must still be here somewhere in the Vatican.

  Indeed, her whereabouts was the pressing issue behind di Concerci's visit. The prefect was thankful to be admitted, having been told by the protective attendant nun that the pope wasn't to be disturbed.

  “Holiness,” the cardinal opened tentatively, “I regret this intrusion, but there is a matter of some urgency.” Di Concerci had been hopeful that a little time alone would allow Nicholas to compose himself, but he could see that was not going to be the case. The pope persisted in the same state of dejection he had carried away with him from the foot of the broken altar.

  “Papa,” di Concerci tried again, and Nicholas finally turned a pained face to his advisor. “Papa, I know you are in no mood for more distressing news, but I must alert you, the Swiss Guard informs me that Jeza has gained entrance into the Bibliotheca Secreta, and she has taken with her an entire mob of news reporters with cameras.”

  Nicholas turned back to his window, said nothing, placed his elbow on the sill and his chin in his cupped hand.

  “Holiness, we must do something!”

  “She has made us into her scribes and Pharisees,” Nicholas said to the window, ignoring the emergency. “We are the hypocrites now. The barren ground upon which the seed has fallen and withered. God has deserted us, Tony. Jeza has turned everything upside down.”

  “No, Papa, God has not turned against us, as you will soon see. But for now, we must deal with this breach of the archives. Who knows what this woman is up to? You must let me send the Guard to remove her.”

  “I cannot set my hand against the will of God, Antonio. You saw what happened today. This only confirms the troubling dreams I've had of her.”

  “It is not the will of God, Holy Father,” di Concerci stated adamantly, “and I will prove this to you. But for now, Holiness, we cannot simply allow her to take over the city.”

  “Do what you think best, Antonio, but I cannot deal with this right now.”

  “Yes, Holiness,” the prefect said, satisfied “And soon, I will report back to you with additional information that I believe will help restore your hope.”

  The pope paid this no heed, returning to the spectacle outside his window. Di Concerci bowed and quickly took his exit.

  84

  The Vatican Gardens, Vatican City, Rome, Italy 2:29 P.M., Sunday, March 19, 2000

  Rather than retracing her steps through the bulk of the Vatican Museums, Jeza cut along a hallway and exited outside into the afternoon light of the Vatican Gardens. She maintained her steady clip, heading in what Feldman took to be the general direction of the helipad.

  At length, as they neared the vicinity of the helicopter, Jeza veered off
and entered the serene vista of the Lourdes Grotto near St. John's Tower. Here, Feldman spied the faithful Cardinal Litti, sitting quietly by himself on a bench, waiting for his lost Messiah. As he caught sight of her, Lira's eyes grew large and he moved anxiously toward her, like a puppy greeting its returning master.

  Jeza took the cardinal's hand and Litti dropped to his knees, kissing her knuckles, tears in his eyes. The prophetess smiled down at him and raised him to his feet. Feldman, Cissy and Hunter flopped to the grass and stretched out to regain their breath.

  Their rest was short-lived. Within minutes, a contingent of ten Swiss Guardsmen came trotting down a path to confront them.

  “Lady,” the captain of the guard announced to Jeza, “we have orders that you are to accompany us to your aircraft and leave the Vatican State immediately.” The Messiah did not protest, but willingly allowed the corps to escort her away.

  Feldman and company were not yet permitted to follow. At halberd point, the guards insisted that all the media turn over any videotape, photographic film, notes or other records made during the “unauthorized, criminal break-in of the Bibliotheca Secreta.”

  Despite his concern, Feldman had to grin as Hunter, aided by the distraction of the other loudly protesting news-people, hastily slid a tape out of his knapsack, pulled out the back of the unsuspecting Cissy's gown and deposited it deftly in her underalls. Yelping in surprise, Cissy quickly recognized the ruse and suppressed the reflex to slug her partner. As she shrugged off the jolt of cold plastic, Hunter surrendered two blank tapes to a suspicious guard.

  Finishing their search, the guardsmen released the group. Feldman, Hunter and an indignant Cissy joined Cardinal Litti and the Messiah on the landing pad next to the idling helicopter. While the remaining news crews captured the send-off, Feldman and Hunter helped their companions up and into the passenger compartment. First the Messiah, then the ever-faithful Cardinal Litti, and finally Cissy, displaying a notably unflattering shape as she bent to duck through the hatchway.

  As the helicopter rose slowly from the compound, Feldman observed an appreciably different complexion in the swelling crowd outside the walls below. While there were still isolated pockets of protesters pushing and shoving, the majority seemed to be solidly supportive of the prophetess now. As the aircraft whirled up into the blue Roman sky, Jeza's followers waved her off with wild cheering and banners that read “Jeza Is God,” “Jeza Rules” and “Rapture Me!”

  85

  The skies over Rome, Italy 3:14 P.M., Sunday, March 19, 2000

  Aboard the helicopter shuttling back to the Rome airport, Feldman couldn't take his eyes off the incredible young woman who had just, once again, single-handedly upset the global equilibrium.

  But Jeza never returned his gaze.

  Feldman's mind was in constant churn, arranging and rearranging his perspectives on the events of the day. It was not difficult to imagine Jeza the Daughter of God. She possessed such an imposing presence; an inner control and strength unlike anything Feldman had ever known. And those invasive eyes. They lent an air of infinite wisdom to her noble face.

  And yet, there was that one nagging question that continued to trouble him. How did those bizarre, artificial devices she carried within her head factor into all this? He simply could not shake off his uncomfortableness. There was something too unsettling, too ungodly about them to fit properly into this whole divinity scenario.

  On the return flight to Egypt, Feldman could not rest. He sat by himself in the passenger compartment of the jetliner, Jeza having vacated her seat immediately after takeoff to retire to her room. Before she'd left, Feldman had tried, unsuccessfully, to engage her in conversation, but she'd avoided him pointedly, appearing very tired and withdrawn.

  Several rows away, Litti was sitting quietly, reading. Hunter was stretched out across three seats, snoring. Cissy, however, was still in Rome. She'd stayed on temporarily to work with WNN Europe in rushing together a report on the Secret Archives expedition. As Cissy had said her good-byes at the airport and turned to leave, contraband video in hand, Hunter had patted her on the backside and advised her to keep his precious tape in a safe place. This time she did not resist the compulsion to punch him hard in the gut. If not admiring Hunter's style, Feldman had to appreciate the resourcefulness. He could only hope that some of the other media were also able to salvage their archival treasures.

  As the captain sounded the bell for his passengers to return to their seats for the descent into Cairo, Feldman anticipated another opportunity to sit with the Messiah. But when Jeza left her cabin to take a window berth near the back of the plane, Feldman found himself upstaged. The good cardinal proved too tenacious a suitor, grabbing the coveted aisle seat first.

  And then, after arriving in Cairo, Litti continued to shadow the quiet, pensive woman, even insisting on accompanying her for their final helicopter commute to Feldman's car. Feldman assumed the possessive cardinal would insist on tagging along to Jeza's drop-off point, too. But thankfully, the Messiah broke her long silence and commanded that no one but Jon Feldman could accompany her further. Extremely reluctant to be separated from his Savior, Litti had to receive repeated assurances from Jeza that he would soon see her again. Feldman also placated the anxious cardinal by providing him with accommodations at a downtown hotel as a guest of WNN.

  It was late when, at last, in his car on the way to deliver Jeza to her desert retreat, Feldman finally had the Messiah to himself. Not quite sure how to broach the subject on his mind, he drove for a good while along the dry dirt roadway, incubating his thoughts in silence.

  Suddenly finding himself closer to their destination than he realized, Feldman slowed the Rover a bit to regain some time. He stole a sideways glance at his little passenger. Her face was turned away from him toward the full moon rising outside her window. Her ivory hands rested quietly in her lap.

  “Jeza?” Feldman finally broke the stillness. “Jeza, why did you choose me to conduct you on these journeys?”

  She neither turned toward him nor responded.

  “Why me?”

  “Because I know your heart,” she answered after a long pause.

  “Do you also know my mind?”

  No reply.

  “Do you also know I'm uncertain about you? That I have problems accepting who you say you are?”

  Again there was a long pause. “That does not matter,” she decided, still facing away from him. “God's plan is set forth and His will shall be.”

  “What about your will?”

  “That you are in God's plan was not of your design nor mine. I chose you because I recognized you.”

  “You recognized me?”

  “From the moment I first saw you at the Mount of the Beatitudes.”

  “You mean you recognized me from television?”

  “No. When I saw you it was for the very first time. And I recognized you.”

  Feldman was confused. Having arrived at Jeza's release point, he stopped the car.

  “I don't understand,” he said.

  The Messiah, still facing away, did not respond. Feldman shut off the motor and leaned forward in his seat to get a glimpse of her face.

  He was stunned to see her crying. Eyes wide open, staring off toward the desert, a deep melancholy etched in her brow, her cheeks glistening with tears.

  “Jeza, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you with that stupid comment about not accepting who—”

  She turned her large, dazzling eyes upon him once more, and in the soft moonlight she looked all the world to him like a lost, lonely child. Or perhaps an angel.

  “I know,” she responded softly. “You have not.”

  Feldman had never before experienced such a concentration of complex emotions like those that surged within him at this moment—empathy, protectiveness, desperation, yearning, emptiness, fear.

  Love.

  Before he was even aware of it, Jeza had slipped from the car and he realized he was about to lose her once a
gain to the wilderness.

  “No, wait!” he cried, fumbling himself out the door. Rushing to her side, he grasped her by her slender arms and pulled her toward him. She averted her face in an anguished grimace. Withstanding the tremendous temptation to embrace her, Feldman instead gently dried her tears with his handkerchief, took her hand in his and walked slowly with her up the winding hillside path.

  She seemed very distant now, staring straight ahead mechanically, totally oblivious to the confusion of the man beside her. The closer they drew to the top of the slope, the more anxious he became, his eyes glued to her, his stomach knotted at the thought of her leaving.

  At the crest she stopped to meet his gaze, her dark eyes reaching far inside him again. And the more he stared into that compelling visage, the more he was drawn into it.

  “When will I see you again?” he asked her.

  There was a troubling concern in her face. “For a while you shall not see me,” she said slowly, “and then in a while again, you shall see me.”

  “But I want to be with you. I need to be with you!” Feldman pressed her, not liking the open-endedness of her answer.

  The Messiah averted her eyes, turned and withdrew a few paces. “It is not to be,” she said.

  Feldman was staggered. He moved close behind her and gripped her shoulders. “Please don't tell me that, Jeza. I couldn't bear the thought of that!”

  She looked around into his turbulent eyes. “Jon, there is a great void ahead of you. A wide chasm that you will confront alone. A long and difficult leap.” She turned to face him and took his hands in hers. “And when you land on the far side, things will no longer be as they were.”

  She squeezed his hands hard, her eyes filling with tears again, searching the depths of his soul. “But at that moment, you must remember, the Father has His purpose. And while you cannot change what is meant to be, you will always have what once was. Remember. And remember that I hold in my heart a love for you that is eternal.”